


You Wouldn’t Think Making Friends with Death would make LIFE More Interesting but, Well, Here we Are (Or, in Other Words, “Well, THAT Wasn’t Supposed to Happen.”)

by alwayslily22, Des98



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursleys, Black Hermione, Cool, F/F, F/M, Gen, Honestly fuck them so much, Let’s be real, M/M, Multi, Oh, PoC Harry, Sirius Lives, Sirius is proven innocent, We are writing way too many stories at once, actually existing in the real world is too much work anyway, and also like, and diversity, and fuck the dursleys again too, and gets to raise harry, and he also gets to be with his boyfriend, and hermione who is black, and if you like it and feel comfortable, and like honestly jk was a monster for not ever letting him find happiness, and poc, bassy and sassy are two thirsty thots, because people are gay steven, because they cannot suffer enough, black - Freeform, but anyway thanks for coming to my tag talk, but at least its something, but it’s chill, eh, enjoy, fite me, fuck me i guess, he deserves happiness so much, he gave up everything to try to keep his friends and harry safe, i guess, i have gone too far with the tags, it’s literally impossible, like harry for example, like literally any comments except for rude ones make me so happy, lils muse also loves comments, live long and prosper always, maybe leave a comment if you can, my muse is a slut for comments, my soft boi Remus lupin, not from the beginning like he should have, read on my fellow nerds with no lives, sirius gets to be HAPPY, so like, they love appreciation, who is poc, wolfstar, wow it’s two am and i have a six thirty wake up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayslily22/pseuds/alwayslily22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: Harry goes after Sirius through the veil, determined to bring his godfather back.  As it turns out, Sirius was already about to be sent back anyway, since he was alive when he came through, but, in the twist literally EVERYBODY has come to expect with this child, some *complications* turn up when it comes to Harry.  Luckily, Death is a pretty cool guy, but there’s only so much even HE can do to help them out, and an arrangement is made which has some... *interesting* side effects.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry watched his godfather fall through the veil in abject horror- one of the only links he had left to his parents, one of the few people who really cared about him, someone who guided him, hugged him, _loved_ him, and he was just… just gone.  He couldn’t believe it- _wouldn’t_ believe it.  Rational thought fled to the side as he rushed towards the veil, ignoring the sounds of the battle raging behind him and dodging Remus’ attempt to hold him back.  Not slowing down at all, he jumped through after Sirius, ignoring the background cries of “Harry!” from all his friends.

    Beyond the veil, it was rather like what Harry had pictured- white and misty, like being wrapped in a fog, but with nothing beyond it.  This was merely an entryway, he supposed, where you waited to be taken to wherever you would go. He took a step of forward, feeling faint, disconnected.  His head hurt, and he felt as if he was… _spreading out,_ almost.  He was losing his connection to the living world, and he needed to find Sirius and get out- quickly.

    It didn’t take long.  Once Harry managed to pull himself together as much as he could, he stumbled forwards, and then Sirius was just _there._

“Pup?!” He yelped, looking surprised but otherwise unharmed (whereas Harry felt himself falling apart).  “What are you doing here?!”

    “I followed you in,” Harry grunted, feeling like he was floating, but not in the good way- like his mind was going up and the rest of him was stuck at the bottom.  “We… gotta get you back… before you’re gone for good...”

    “I’m fine, pup, really,” Sirius assured, leaning down worriedly.  “I’m not dead- I’d feel different if I were. You, though,” he fought the rising tide of panic in his throat.  “You look like you’re halfway there.”

    “He is,” suddenly, there was another voice, and they were looking into the face of a tall, pale man that _seemed_ young but whose eyes spoke to the contrary- there were eons of depth to them, the irises nearly as dark as the pupils.  His hair was black, but unlike that of Sirius or Harry, it seemed to _absorb_ light rather than reflect it.  Padfoot knew, with the certainty that washed through him painfully like ice-water down his throat, that he was looking into the face of death.

    “What- _why?!_ I mean, _I_ feel fine.”

    “You, Sirius Black, _are_ fine- the veil will not only _allow_ you back through but _demand_ it.  But Harry,” his eyes seemed to soften for a fraction of a second as he looked at the teenager, and it occurred to Sirius that for all the ways this man fit the typical image of death, emotion was rather unexpected.  “Harry is torn- he has a horcrux of Tom Riddle inside of him, and he must get rid of it before it drags him back through. As for now, he is only half-alive, not enough to go back through with this piece of necromantic filth inside.  The veil will not let him stay, but he cannot go on either, in this state-of in-between, so he is dying. The only way is for him to rid himself of the horcrux.”

    “How?” Harry groaned, sweat beading on his forehead.  He could feel himself trying to go, and it was taking everything he had to stay.

    “You must expel it, child,” death’s baritone voice wove around them, strangely comforting.  “I am in no hurry to take you before your time, but I have no control over who I take and who I don’t.  What the ancient laws demand, they shall have. Unless you fight it. It is your connection to the enemy of nature, he who has split his soul.  In this state, you shall feel it easier. You must take it and _push,_ but it will not want to go.  You must make it.”

    “I… okay,” Harry wrenched out from between his clenched jaw.  He was _so_ tired, and he wanted to give up, give in, just go on to wherever, but Sirius was looking at him with such concern, such _love,_ that he determined to fight until he had nothing left.  He found the evil thing, the _horcrux_ (he didn’t quite know what that was, but he knew it was awful, from the way that this connection that had always hurt his head and forced him together with Voldemort had become more than a tenuous link, it had become a tangible, _behemoth_ force, black and putrid and oily, thrashing and twisting and coiling around his essence, determined to use up everything he had in its fight to stay, that if _it_ must go, so must Harry).

    For Sirius, he fought- he took the evil and he _shoved._ But it did not want to go.

    “You think that it is worth it, to stay?” Said the little voice in his mind, sounding so, _so_ like Tom Riddle.  “You are no better than me, and your muggle relatives knew it.  The wizarding world knew it, Umbridge knew it. Do you really want to get rid of me, to have no excuse for being the miserable wretch you are?  Nobody wants you- the Dursleys have whipped the hatred into your back, haven’t they? You carry _visible_ reminders of what a _freak_ you are.  You only get those you care about in trouble.  Your godfather is only here because he came to save _you._ Let me take you, take you away.  Don’t fight- you’re useless anyway.  Be useful, for _once_ in your life be useful and just give in, give up.  Give yourself to me, and all the pain will be over.”  This piece of Tom wanted to stay, and it wanted to use _Harry_ to do it.  

It was arrogant enough to believe that it could cheat death yet again, if only Harry would stop fighting it.  If it could use Harry’s powers, it could become alive enough in its own right to go back through. Harry, well… Harry would fade away to nothing, and that wasn’t really its concern now, was it?

Harry fought- he knew what it wanted, this evil, and he wasn’t going to let it win.  It made some good points- he _did_ bring pain to those he cared about, and he _was_ tired, _so_ tired, of fighting this losing battle, but he _had_ to keep fighting it.  He couldn’t leave Ron and Hermione to go on alone.  He didn’t want to die- not yet.

But maybe they _would_ be better off without him there… after all, _Cedric_ would have.  Maybe he…

 _No,_ he reminded himself.   _Ron and Hermione love you- they_ **_need_ ** _you to fight, because they_ **_want_ ** _you with them._ And even if they _would_ be better off without him, when it was a choice between him or this piece of Tom, this piece of Tom that only wanted him to stop fighting so that it could take what was left of him, well, he was undeniably the better choice.  This foul thing didn’t even have a body or a soul- it was trying to feed off of Harry’s strength because it didn’t have its own, and Harry wasn’t going to listen to something like that.

 _Worthless,_ it reminded him, feeling Harry gathering his strength as it lost more and more of its grip.   _Worthless freak._ It rifled frantically through Harry’s memories, pulling out images of Vernon, advancing with the belt, Vernon, drunk out of his mind after Petunia and Dudley were asleep, breaking a whisky bottle against Harry’s skin because he hadn’t gotten him something to eat on the table fast enough.  It pulled out long, hungry nights in the cupboard, the winter air cold through the slats, the heat turned off on the first floor because all the bedrooms were upstairs and there was ‘no need to waste good utilities on the freak.’ It pulled out beatings and cruel words and illnesses where he was given a kick and a slap for putting ‘the family’ at risk with his germs and shoved under the stairs again.  “No food for you, boy,” Petunia would say as she slammed the cupboard door. “If you can’t even do your chores, what use is it to waste it on you?”

 _No,_ Harry pushed back, pulling up images of laughing in the common room with Ron and Hermione, of hugging Remus, of having Mrs. Weasley fuss over him like one of her own children.   _I_ **_matter_ ** _to people._ Like casting a Patronus, he drew on his admittedly smaller cache of happy memories, of being loved and getting his first Weasley sweater and making Dobby smile with the socks he’d gotten him for Christmas.

Tom’s soul fragment felt itself slipping away, and it pulled a final, last-ditch attempt that it was sure would work.

“She died for you,” it taunted, pulling the memory of the night Lily Potter had died, begging Lord Voldemort to spare her child as he offered to let her live if she would just step aside.

For a moment, it thought that that might have done it, as Harry stalled, a crushing ache in his chest.  But, right as it began to congratulate itself, Harry squared up again.

 _NO,_ he boomed, tired and frail but assertive and determined.   **_YOU_ ** _KILLED HER!_ A final heaving assault, and it was gone.  Harry knew no more after that.

______

“It’s gone,” Sirius said, watching the black, screaming wraith as it was jerked violently into the mist.  “Wait, why doesn’t Harry look better?!” He croaked, his heart sinking to his knees.

“Oh dear,” Death sighed.  “I had hoped that would be enough.”

“What do you mean, _enough?”_ Sirius demanded.  “You said the horcrux was the thing keeping him here.”

“The horcrux was _part_ of the reason keeping him here,” the deity clarified morosely, going over to turn Harry, whose glamours had fallen in the fight with the horcrux.  “Look at him, Sirius- he is not well.”

“I…” Padfoot finally got a closer look at his godson.  He was thin, cheeks hollow and eyes sunken, his brown skin far paler than it should be.  Death lifted Harry’s old, threadbare shirt, showing Sirius the crisscrossing networks of raised, knotted scars on his back and chest from Vernon’s belt, Marge’s dog chains, and whatever else his relatives had on them to hurt him with.  “They… his relatives, they…”

“Yes,” Death exhaled, his voice bearing far more pain than one would expect from him.  “The abuse has been long, and it has weakened him. And look…” he pointed to Harry’s hand.

 _I must not tell lies,_ those cruel, raw wounds that he had been glamouring to look far better than they were so Ron and Hermione wouldn’t panic, were now shown in all their painful, ugly truth.  The cuts were weeping, bleeding, the hand swollen.

“Umbridge,” Sirius growled, voice low and deadly.

“I will be glad, I must admit, to get my hands on her,” Death agreed.  “His hand is infected fairly severely, and on top of the abuse and the effort from expelling the horcrux, he isn’t healthy enough to be allowed back through.  He cannot stay here much longer. As of yet he is not able to pass on, but that will change soon. Being in the in-between like this, the veil demands that those inside go one way or the other.  Since Harry was on the fence before, and then had to fight away such a presence, the beyond is winning over. It is taking all of my influence to keep him here now.”

“So what do I do?!” Sirius was on his knees, one hand protectively around his shallowly breathing godson.  “Do I have to trade- I will! Take my life force- just send him back!”

“It does not work like that, my friend,” Death whispered softly.  “I am not like in the myths, with a choice of who to collect and who to leave.  I am merely a slave to the ancient laws. Do you think I _want_ to rip families apart, to watch innocent children fall to illness while the evil and corrupt remain living on and extorting the weak for their own gain?  No, I can only do what I am told, and it is taking all of my limited influence to hold him here this long. However, there _might_ be something I can do…”

“What? Anything- just do it!” Sirius yelled.

“It is not quite so simple,” the immortal being held up a hand to silence him.  “Hear me first and then decide,” he ordered, and Sirius swallowed his protests with restraint and nodded tightly.

“Harry has been touched by me before and survived- I had never seen such a thing- it was an act of strength, not just the love of his mother.  Her sacrifice was noble, but the ancient magics that govern our world would not have let him stay if it he was not destined to. The fact that he has lived this long continues to prove this- I have gotten close- too close- to him many times, and each I was relieved to find myself turned away.  But now this connection may help us- because I have touched him once, completely, we have a link. I can do with him what I have never been able to do before, and pour some of my power into him. But…” he continued, when Sirius opened his mouth again. “I haven’t any idea what the side effects might be, as this has never been done before.  He would live, surely, and he would continue to be _Harry,_ but other than that I cannot say.  If it was decided that the risk was too great, he could go on- he has done more than enough and sacrificed more than enough to earn eternal paradise with his parents.  The choice must be made by you, as he is not in a position to be able to.”

“I…” Sirius worried his lip.  Would it be selfish to keep him here, to take him back to fight a war when he could see an end to his pain?  He wouldn’t be _fixed_ when he went back, either- he’d be ill and weak and would have to recover both physically and mentally from this abuse that none of them had seen.  Should he let him go, for Harry’s sake?

“We don’t have much time,” Death warned him, and Padfoot snapped up.  Harry deserved to _live,_ to see his friends again and to have children and to see his dreams come to fruition.  James and Lily would want that for him, and he had to believe that Harry would want that too, since he had fought hard enough that the horcrux, an abhorrent, loathsome magic, was expelled.  That took effort, effort that someone who wanted to die would not have been able to muster… right?

“Do it,” he shoved as much authority into his voice as he could muster, despite still having some doubts.

“Very well,” Death agreed, and Sirius may have been just grasping at straws, but he thought that he seemed pleased with the decision.

“There is one more thing,” he added in his deep, silky voice as he knelt down and put his hands over Harry’s body.  “You cannot tell him what has transpired- it is in the ancient laws that an agreement between an immortal and another being may not be discussed unless it is brought up directly.  Harry will have to somehow figure it out, down to the last detail, on his own, and if that happens you may confirm that it is true. It is not my choice to make, either, I am afraid.  It is just the way things are- if you found yourself trying to tell him, the words would become trapped and simply would not come. It is a stupid rule- it seems rather arbitrary to me, as myself nor any of my associates have been able to figure out why it is so.  The ancient laws can be rather… well, I believe you humans would refer to it as ‘total dicks.’”

“Right then,” Sirius was feeling a bit of an information overload.  “Is he ready to go back through?”

“Yes,” Death nodded thoughtfully, stepping back to survey Harry, who didn’t look any different, to be honest.  “But he will need lots of time to recover, and he is still human- look after him, and make sure his life is good.  I have grown rather fond of this little human, fonder than I have been of any before. With this job, I have found myself having to grow indifferent just to bear it, but with him… there is something that caught my attention, and I have been hoping and wishing that he would come out alright.  Perhaps it is our connection, the fact that he has been the only one yet to resist this hateful power of mine, but I wish for him the chance to utilize this unbreakable spirit, and to find the happiness he deserves. Go, Sirius Orion Black, and live your life, but know this- we have made a pact, and it has bound _us_ together as well.  We may yet see each other before I greet you here again, and I hope you shall not look upon those times with fear.”

“I owe you a great deal,” Sirius utilized all his hated pureblood training as he stood tall, his godson in his arms, and looked Death respectfully in the eyes.  “I never thought I would find myself saying this, but Death, it was nice to meet you.” He carefully readjusted Harry’s unconscious form and stuck one hand out for the immortal to shake.

“Likewise,” he quirked one corner of his mouth as they clasped hands.  “I do not often get a chance to cultivate intrapersonal relationships, as I am usually, well…” he made a garrotting motion across his throat.  “I hope we can come to call ourselves friends.”

“I’ve definitely had worse,” Sirius chuckled bitterly, thinking of Peter.  “Well, thanks a lot, and I guess I’ll be seeing you around. And he turned and walked back through the veil.  


	2. Chapter 2

Sirius, stunned from what had just happened and filled with worry for his godson, who he had so nearly lost, stumbled back through the veil, barely cognizant of the fact that the battle had ended, or of Remus and Harry’s friends, stumbling up in astonishment and joy, which turned to anxiety as they crowded around him and saw Harry.  He barely took note of the many people crowding him to tell him how relieved they were that he was alive, or that they had never doubted his innocence (which was a steaming pile of hippogriff shite, but whatever). He only gave a curt nod when he felt the minister himself press his wand into his hand with his ‘most sincere apologies’ for his wrongful incarceration.  He didn’t speak at all until Fudge looked at Harry, stuttering anxiously as he asked the cause of his ailment.

“He is just tired,” Padfoot ground out, tonelessly.  “It’s been an ordeal, but there is no need to pretend you care about him now, after the way you and your people have treated him all year.”  He did not deign to respond further to the man’s insincere rambling apologies, born out of a pressing fear for his own reputation and position.

He took Harry straight to Poppy, Moony following behind as silent but much-needed moral support.  

“Oh, poor child,” Poppy sighed when she saw him, uncharacteristically emotional.  She cried when she saw his back and his chest, shaking hands tracing the outline of his ribs, clearly visible on his scrawny, malnourished form.

“The malnourishment is severe.”  The words quivered as she forced them out.  “It’s done its damage, to be sure- he will never be quite as strong as he could have been, physically.  But even then, he should not be so weak right now, after managing to carry on all year…”

Sirius’ hands shook as he showed the nurse the wound from the blood quill, the anger and the grief so strong that he felt only an aching, cavernous numbness after such a long night.  Poppy’s fists clenched in rage as she took in the sight, a light somewhere in the back of the room shattering loudly.

“Whenever we find that toad of a woman, I’ll kill her myself, damn my oath to hell,” she swore, struggling to hold herself together as she went to grab some disinfectants.  Then Sirius told her about the horcrux, and she went white as her sheets as the bottles clattered to the floor.

 _“He fought off a_ **_horcrux_ ** _?!”_ She gasped, dumbstruck.   _“On top of_ everything else he was already suffering?!  It’s a wonder he’s alive, poor bean.” Sirius just sighed again, well aware of how close a thing it had been.

“He will need a long period of recovery, of course.  Well, it’s a good thing your name is cleared, so you once again have custody of him.  It can only get better from here,” she smiled bitterly, her eyes full of sad tenderness as she looked at her (secretly) favourite patient.

_________

Even though summer started only days after the battle at the ministry, Harry wasn’t allowed out of the hospital wing for two months, and he was mostly asleep or unaware of his surroundings for the first four weeks.  He’d woken up in a panic about Sirius, but having the man at his bedside holding his hand had quickly put his fears to rest. They’d had a long talk about the Dursleys, how it was nothing for Harry to be ashamed of and how Sirius understood why he’d hidden it and that they all loved him very much and would be there for him throughout his recovery.  Harry had broken down in his arms that day, crying for the first time in as long as he could remember, but it felt good.

Ron and Hermione wrote him letters the entire time, and they said the same things Sirius did.  Harry was just glad that they had been such good friends and steady presences throughout this entire nightmare of a year, and they wouldn’t hear of any apologies for what he saw as his angry and hostile behavior towards them.

 _Oh Harry,_ Hermione had written.   _With everything you were going through- and so much of it alone- you were long overdue for a breakdown.  Honestly, your behavior was fairly mild teenage angst that we’ve all felt at some point or another. You could have burned the entire place to the ground and it still would have been a reasonable reaction to your situation.  You are_ **_so_ ** _strong, and I’m so proud to have a friend like you.  We love you with all of our hearts, you know, and we can’t wait until you’re safe at Grimmauld Place so we can come visit in person._

 _Oi mate,_ Ron’s letter read.   _Don’t see what you’ve got to apologize for, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll go ahead and say I forgive you for whatever you think you did.  Fred and George are making things explode again- you think with their own place above the shop, they’d stop coming round to do it here, but that’d be too polite of them, I s’pose.  I miss you a lot, you know. You’re for all intents and purposes a Weasley- a scrawny, caramel-colored Weasley, and mum’s been knitting and baking up a storm. Expect an arse-load of jumpers, blankets, and hats and more fudge and cakes than you could ever eat as soon as you’re out of the hospital.  Anyway, gotta go now, before Pig decides that he’d rather eat the letter than carry it. I love you, bro._

It was the week after his birthday when he was finally released, and Sirius carried him through the floo, as he wasn’t permitted the exertion of walking yet (Poppy was very strict about this- Harry was _her boy,_ dammit, and he was going to _rest_ until he was better!).  When he _did_ get home (and wasn’t that a nice word- _home),_ all his friends and loved ones were waiting at the kitchen table of a completely-redecorated Grimmauld Place, under a banner that said _Happy Birthday Harry!_

Kreacher came out carrying a cake (since they’d discovered that Harry had been a horcrux, Albus had _reluctantly_ let them in on the existence of the others, and one of them happened to be a locket that Kreacher had promised to destroy for Regulus, and, unable to, had tortured himself over for sixteen years.  Once it had been destroyed and his master’s heroism known, he was like a new elf, and he’d even helped them remove Walburga’s painting) decorated with sixteen candles.

“Happy Birthday, master Harry,” he said politely, a smile on his face as he set it down on the gift-loaded table.

“What, you didn’t think we’d just _not_ celebrate your birthday just because we couldn’t do it the day of?” Sirius chuckled as he took in his godson’s gobsmacked expression, ruffling his hair as he got him all settled in the comfortable armchair that had been set up at the head of the table.

“Oh guys, it’s wonderful, but you really didn’t have to…” Harry blushed brilliantly as he looked at his hands shyly, and it suddenly hit his godfather with a feeling like a hammer against his chest that Harry really _didn’t_ believe that celebrating his birthday was important or the obligation of the people that loved him.

“You deserve the world, pup, and you better believe we’re gonna give it to you,” he managed to gather himself enough to force a smile back onto his face as he determined to be cheerful for Harry’s sake.  

“Yeah mate- you’ve had enough birthdays without the joy of our presence, and that’s something that is just arse-bollocks _wrong,”_ Ron joked to ease the tension.  

“Thanks so much, all of you,” Harry smiled tiredly but joyfully as he looked at the faces of his friends.  “And I’m _so_ sorry I put you all in danger at the ministry…”

“Hey,” Neville said firmly, looking happier and much, _much_ more confident, his new, _well-matched_ wand sticking out of the waistband of his trousers, his overlarge jumper bunched around it, “We _chose_ to go with you because we _wanted_ to- we knew what we were doing and you weren’t responsible for that or for anything that happened to us while we were there.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed heartily.  “Besides, these scars are _super_ cool,” he said, flexing his arms, sporting the spiral-shaped white marks left by the brain-slug tentacles.  Harry smiled at him, glad that his _best mate_ at least didn’t hate every scar he had- it was a terrible burden to bear, looking at your body in the mirror and having every mark signify some of your worst memories.

The party was lovely, eating dinner and cake in an open-plan kitchen with a photo of Lily and James smiling and waving down at them from the mantle, Lily in her wedding dress next to James. Hugging her from behind was Sirius, who was smirking knowingly but with the tears in his eyes undermining his ‘cool’ facade.  Remus had his arm slung over Sirius shoulders and was looking at him with undisguised adoration, probably planning their own wedding in his head. Even now, Moony was leaning against his godfather’s chest, leaning his head back to kiss the underside of his chin.

Harry got a number of books, sweets, games, and some new quidditch equipment, including goggles that were charmed to his _proper_ prescription, since Harry hadn’t had his glasses updated since Petunia brought them home one day from a charity shop and shoved them at him brusquely with a mandate that ‘this ought to get the teachers to shut up about you squinting at the board, boy,’ a clear threat in her tone.

By seven, he was growing very tired, still rather weak, and Sirius decided it was time to carry him up the stairs to his new bedroom, which was decorated in Gryffindor colours, with posters of his favourite quidditch teams and muggle comic book characters, the lamp shaped like a quidditch hoop and his firebolt positioned in pride of place on two wall hooks above the mirror on his dresser.  Photos of his parents and their friends as children and young adults were mixed with the posters, and the bookshelf had been stocked with all his favorites, as well as a number of materials on becoming an animagus.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, pup, so we can change it, especially seeing as you’re going to have to spend so much time here in the next few weeks and we want you to be comfortable…” Sirius kissed Harry’s forehead softly.

“It’s perfect,” the small teen said, beaming so brightly that Sirius knew he was sincere.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, feeling Harry’s forehead.  “The truth, please- I know that the infection in your hand was pretty bad on its own, and then you had to get all those bones rebroken and set properly…”

“I’m fine, Pads, just still really tired and drained,” Harry admitted, sinking into the pillows on his four-poster with relief- it annoyed him that he was so exhausted after just sitting up for a few hours.

“That’s only to be expected- you’re a tough kid to even be doing as well as you are.”

“Thanks,” Harry gave him a half-smile as his godfather tucked the blankets around him.

“Anytime, Prongslet- and hey, you’ll be up and about soon, just in time to go back to school.”  He made a face, and Harry laughed.

“I like classes,” Harry said.  Not that he’d believe it if they told him, but he was _good_ at classes as well, and incredibly smart; they’d all been impressed with his OWL results, _especially_ his E in potions, a class with a teacher that was the _opposite_ of helpful and during which he was always being sabotaged.  “Well, except for potions…”

“About that,” Sirius ran a thumb tenderly along Harry’s cheeks, the hollows slowly filling in as he gained weight- not fast enough, in their opinions, but at least progress was being made… “We all had a talk, and then Minnie and Poppy sat Snape down and gave him a _very_ thorough lecture about how he’s been unfair to you and Neville.  Considering the difference between your OWL score and your class grade, they had an impartial third party come in to re-evaluate your old assignments, and they’ve raised your grade in the class from a P to an E to adjust.  Neville went from a P to an A, as although his practical work admittedly could use some work, his essays show a remarkable understanding of the theory and the ingredients.”

“Of course they do- Nev’s a herbology _prodigy,”_ Harry said, fiercely proud of all his friends.

“Snape’s on academic probation for the next year, too, and someone will be double-checking all his grading.  And if he’s anything but cordial to you, well, Moony and I will be living at Hogwarts too this year, since he’s the DADA professor again, and we will not stand for any disrespect towards you,” Sirius crossed his arms.

“Thanks Pads,” Harry smiled again.  “But I’m hoping we can start off again on better terms… I mean, he _does_ spy for the order, which has gotta be hard, and I suppose I _did_ disrespect his privacy by looking through the pensive…”

“You’re far too forgiving, pup,” Sirius shook his head, but it was with fondness.  He didn’t want to argue with Harry lest he feel like he was being attacked, but in _his_ opinion Snivellus deserved everything he got- he wouldn’t have had to spy if he hadn’t become a death eater in the first place, after all, and it was a violation of _Harry’s_ privacy to just invade his mind like that night after night.  

Besides, he had been helping Harry learn occlumency _properly_ in the hospital wing to pass the time- since it was a skill that pureblood children were forced to learn anyway and Harry was so bored- and he’d discovered that even under such terrible tutelage, Harry was actually fairly decent at occlumency- he’d used the thoughts that Snape _did_ see to distract him from those he didn’t want _anyone_ to see, probably of the sort that had given him his many scars or of the punishments of long periods of starvation that had made him so malnourished.  

Harry was good enough at occlumency that Snape hadn’t even _realised_ he was occluding.  Of course, Sirius’ pride for his godson’s skills was also bittersweet- if he _had_ seen those memories, even a git like Snape would have been ethically bound to tell someone about it for the sake of his job.  Even if he _was_ terrible enough that he wouldn’t mind Harry going back to be treated like that every summer (and even Sirius had to admit that he didn’t think Snape would take being an oily bag of tits quite _that_ far), he wasn’t stupid and would have known that it would come up eventually and that he could have lost his job for hiding something like that.

“Siri?” Harry’s voice broke through his wandering thoughts.  “You okay- you’ve been sitting there with a funny look on your face for a while.”

“Oh, I’m fine cub- just thinking.  Hey,” he asked suddenly, “would you mind if I slept in here tonight, as Padfoot?”  Moony was going to be meeting with Minerva to talk about the DADA curriculum for the coming year and was going to be gone late enough that it would be easier for him to just spend the night at Hogwarts, and he needed to reassure himself that Harry was _there,_ that Harry was _okay._

“Of course,” Harry agreed easily.  “I like cuddling with Padfoot.” Sirius didn’t know, but Harry had heard him crying out in his nightmares, on those rare occasions that he’d managed to drift off in the chair beside his hospital bed, and he knew that the man was tortured by dreams that his godson hadn’t made it out of the veil.  Harry could empathize, as he had the same nightmares about Sirius. But they were here, together, and that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those of you asking about Prince- it will happen, we’re just quite busy and some other ideas happen to be holding our muse a little more at the moment.   
> Love,  
> Des and Lils

Harry was still a bit poorly when school started, but he insisted on going on the express and starting with the rest, and Sirius reluctantly agreed, provided that he took it easy.  His godfather insisted on carrying his trunk, and they parted in the train compartment with a kiss on the head from Sirius to Harry.

“I’ll see you at school pup, alright?” He told him, squeezing his shoulder.  “I’m gonna help Uncle Moony set up our quarters for the year.” He was smiling widely- his first year of true freedom, and he was spending it at Hogwarts, as the partner of a teacher with no actual responsibilities of his own except for taking care of his godson, which was more a pleasure than anything.

“Have fun,” Harry said as he lowered himself into one of the seats, already feeling a bit tired, but not so bad as he had been lately.

“Oh, we will,” Sirius replied, wiggling his eyebrows, and Harry gagged and tossed a Bertie Botts at him.  

“Not  _ that  _ kind of fun,” he groaned, hiding his head in his hands.

“No promises,” Sirius laughed deviously as he exited the train and Ron and Hermione entered the compartment with Neville, Ginny, and Luna.

“Hey guys,” Harry greeted as they all piled in next to him.

“Hey mate- how’re you feeling?” Ron asked him, and Harry responded with a shrug.

“As good as I’ve been in a while, and it can only go up from here,” he answered optimistically.  

“That’s good,” Neville agreed, pulling a small succulent out of the pocket of his large jumper and setting it up on the sunny window sill.  “You were looking pretty ragged there, for a while.”

“Geez, thanks,” Harry scrubbed a hand across his face, the  _ I must not tell lies  _ scars standing out in stark relief against the darkness of his skin.  His friends still weren’t quite used to seeing him without the glamours, so the weight difference still startled them at times, even if he  _ was  _ gaining it back slowly.

“Always happy to be of service,” the other Gryffindor chuckled, softly stroking a thumb along his plant.

“So, what’d you get up to this summer, Luna?” Harry asked her, and she hummed pleasantly.

“Daddy and I found a whole  _ herd  _ of snorklacks, and one of them was pregnant.”

“That’s nice Lu,” Harry responded, and Hermione looked skeptical but kept her silence.

“I did a lot of chores around the Burrow, if anyone is interested,” Ron butt in, and Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

“More exciting than laying around in bed,” Harry reminded him, and Ron blushed a little guiltily.

“Relax,” the raven-haired teen snorted.  “I’m just giving you a hard time. Although I  _ do  _ like de-gnoming the garden.”

“I remember,” Ron laughed.  “So, what classes is everyone planning on?”

“I think I’m dropping divination and history of magic,” Harry answered.  “I’m glad I don’t have to drop Potions, even though I don’t wanna be an auror so much anymore.  I don’t know… the Department Of Ministries… I don’t wanna make a career out of that kind of thing…”

“I getcha mate,” Ron agreed.  “I don’t know- I would kind of like to be an auror, but I think I’d be a decent healer too, if I could just get a bit better at potions…”

“I mean, hopefully it will go better now, with Snape forced to be fair.”  Hermione looked very pleased about this- the man could no longer ignore her hand or call her ‘an insufferable know-it-all.’

“Oh, I’m going to have  _ so  _ much fun, now that he’s no longer  _ allowed  _ to show blatant favoritism towards the Slytherins,” Ron enthused, and his sister rolled her eyes at him again.

“Remember, he’s still more than welcome to give you detentions if you’ve  _ earned  _ them,” she said sternly, and he just ignored her.

“I’m going to go find the loo,” Harry yawned, getting up- he wanted to stretch his legs a bit, and he’d had a fair amount of pumpkin juice on the way to the station. Walking down the hallway, he suddenly felt a bit dizzy and had to stop to lean against the wall.  It happened occasionally- he’d felt a bit different lately, as if his body occasionally had to stop and just… recalibrate, he supposed was a good word for it. 

Of course, he happened to be outside of  _ Malfoy’s  _ compartment, and he groaned as he realised he wasn’t quite capable of moving further down the hallway at the moment.  As soon as the noise left his mouth, he regretted it, as Malfoy took his head off of Pansy’s lap and stalked towards the door, throwing it open.

“Potter,” he spat, his gray eyes flashing and his expression unpleasantly tight with something Harry couldn’t quite identify.  “What are you doing here?”

“I… I, uh…” Harry didn’t want to admit he wasn’t quite up to moving yet, so instead he looked down at his feet.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Draco ( _ Malfoy,  _ he corrected himself sternly- where had  _ Draco  _ come from?) scratching anxiously at his left arm, and he filed it away for later.

“Merlin Potter, you look ghastly,”  Draco Malfoy sniffed derisively, and Harry just rolled his eyes.

“Just a bit of motion sickness,” he lied.  “I’ll be on my way in just a moment.”

“See to it that you do,” the blonde Slytherin ordered curtly, and Harry just rolled his eyes- stupid pretty ponce, acting like he owned the damn hallway.

“So,” Pansy prodded once Draco had shut the door behind her.  “Did you… make any progress?”

“Er,” Draco’s haughty facade fell away immediately as he pinked immediately in front of his intimidating best friend.  “I… uh…”

“You chicken out, acted like a berk, and insulted him again?” Pansy sighed, trying not to scream.

“Ah, maybe…”

_ “Honestly,  _ Draco,” the other Slytherin prefect rolled her eyes at him.  “Only  _ you  _ could be desperately in love with someone and only able to communicate in insults.”

“I…” Draco ran his hands through his hair in frustration.  “Well, it’s not like it would  _ matter  _ anyway- I mean, I’m a  _ death eater,  _ for Merlin’s sake!”

“Say it louder, why don’t you?” Pansy quipped sardonically.  “Honestly, you know if you  _ went  _ to Potter and told him about your predicament, his noble Gryffindor nature,” she curled her lip, like the idea was a bad thing, “would kick in and he would offer to help you.”

“I can’t risk  _ my mother’s safety _ for a ‘maybe,’” Draco snarled.  He hated his friend a little bit right now, pitied her unmarked left arm and her more-or-less neutral family and the way the solutions seemed so simple to her as someone outside of the situation.

“Whatever Draco,” Pansy, who knew Draco as well as Draco knew Potter (i.e. better than he knew himself), knew she wasn’t going to get any farther with this argument.  He wasn’t worried about Potter not offering help- he was worried about Potter looking at him in disgust, he was worried about falling more in love with Potter, if that were possible, and he was scared he would burn up if he got too close, like a moth that jumped  _ into  _ the flame.  “I’ll let it go…  _ for now.”   _ Her voice held both a promise and a threat.

______

Eventually, the vertigo passed, and Harry took care of his business and made his way back to the compartment.  Nobody mentioned how long he had been gone, seeing as the only thing that really mattered was that he made it back alright, and soon Harry was leaned against the side of the window, falling fast asleep.

The train pulled into Hogsmeade as the night came over the Scottish countryside, and Harry pulled on an extra jumper and shoved his hands in the pockets of his new jeans, sturdy and warm and made to fit  _ him,  _ not Dudley, and the pleasant feeling that filled him at the knowledge that there were people taking care of him now meant more to him than the fact that the wind no longer nipped at his skin through his trousers.

The feast was pleasant, and Harry managed most of his plate, although having Professor McGonagall hovering nervously around him was a bit weird.

“Good to see you up and about Ha- Mr. Potter,” she corrected herself as she handed him his schedule.  “Professor Lupin told me what classes you planned on taking, so I’ve got you schedule here a bit early.”

“Thanks Professor,” he said, scrunching his eyebrows as an odd expression ghosted over her face for a moment before she headed back to the head table.

“That was a bit strange,” he muttered as he turned around, reaching for a treacle tart and nibbling at the edges.  He was rather full, but could never resist his favourite dessert.

“She’s worried about you, mate,” Ron sighed.  “I mean, it was pretty scary, seeing you come out of the veil looking like not quite all of you had made it back- I’ve never seen you so pale, and we’ve had some pretty close shaves in our time.”

“I’m fine now, though,” Harry protested, ignoring the fact that he was still a bit wan, still a bit weak, and occasionally had to grab whatever was nearest to keep from falling over.  It would pass- it always did.

“We know- we were just pointing out a basic fact, is all,” Hermione placated, as Dumbledore launched into another speech that, if Harry were honest, he didn’t really pay much attention to.

He slept fitfully that night, glad to be back at Hogwarts but weighed down by thoughts of the coming year- there would be no-one to blame for his potions marks but himself this year, if they were bad, and now he had two guardians who actually cared about his grades, cared about  _ him.   _ Would he still be able to make them proud, or would the joy of raising James and Lily Potter’s son wear off?  His rational mind told him that they loved him no matter what, loved him because he was  _ Harry  _ and not because he was the son of their old friends, but years and years of abuse left a psychological hurdle that couldn’t be overcome just by thinking things through logically.

He woke up groggy but ready to face the day, scrubbing his eyes and resisting the urge to put on a glamour- Madame Pomfrey had strictly ordered him not to,  _ ever,  _ for any reasons, as it merely caused a constant exhaustion that would set back his recovery.  She said the fact that he’d managed it at all while doing decently in classes was somewhat of a miracle, and Harry was so uncomfortable with the whole conversation that he didn’t notice the spark of impressed astonishment hiding underneath her stern expression.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled into his toast, the first words of the day as he and his other sleep-addled peers stumbled to the Gryffindor table.

“Morning,” Ron yawned so widely that Hermione felt her own jaw ache in sympathy, and Seam and Deamus leaned tiredly against each other, sharing none of the excitement of the wide-eyed first years, most of whom hadn’t slept a wink but were far too jacked up on adrenaline to feel the effects.

McGonagall, of course, was never slowed by such a mundane thing as lethargy, and she was as perfectly put-together as always as she handed the other students their schedules.

“Oh, Professor- there’s Herbology on my schedule still,” Neville sighed.  “Gran said I had to drop it, focus more on my other classes.”

“Well, she can take  _ that  _ up with me,” the tabby animagus pursed her lips tightly.  “It’s about time she start appreciating the grandson she  _ has  _ instead of the one she thinks she  _ should  _ have.”  Then she walked away, leaving a very stunned Neville holding his timetable with just the barest hint of a smile on his face.

“Well,” Harry grumbled.  “Potions first thing, then- that’s simply a  _ joy.”   _ Forced to be pleasant or not, Snape wasn’t exactly his  _ first  _ choice of humans to look at within an hour of getting out of bed.

“Potion on the board, ingredients in the cupboard- partner with whoever you want,” the man said shortly as soon as they entered the room, and Harry and Ron shot each other gleeful expressions as they paired up, and Hermione, who normally partnered with Neville to help him whenever possible (which, with Snape’s joy of humiliating the poor boy, hadn’t been often) looked around for someone to match with before eventually accepting Daphne Greengrass’ cordial offer to work together- Daphne tended to stay out of house politics, after all, and she had a competence and respect for the subject that appealed to the scholar in Hermione.

“Alright then, three clockwise stirs…” Harry had his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he focussed on the potion, waiting for the right moment to add his perfectly-chopped Veridian root, and Ron turned to glare at Malfoy, who he noticed was giving his best friend a strangely intense look.  Besides defending Harry’s honour, however, he was more than comfortable to let the other teen take the lead, since he  _ did  _ have rather a natural propensity for the subject and it was easier for him to just be handing him ingredients or setting the timers on his wand while the Pakistani boy settled into a comfortable rhythm, far more able to focus now that he could be certain that even if someone  _ did  _ sabotage his cauldron, it wouldn’t ruin his grade.

The potions were cooled, bottled, and left on the table for the cantankerous man to grade by the time the bell rang, another part of Snape’s probation being that he couldn’t hold them late just out of spite.  

“Ready for Transfiguration, then?” Ron asked Harry, who was putting a feather-light charm on his bag, which was beginning to weigh him down a bit.

“Yeah, just a sec,” his best friend replied, taking an apple out of his bag- he’d promised Madame Pomfrey and his godfather’s that he’d always  _ try  _ to eat a mid morning snack, even when he wasn’t hungry (which he usually wasn’t, so soon after breakfast).

“Oh, Harry, you’ve moss on your shoes,” Hermione pointed out.  It wasn’t unusual for the occasional patch of spongy plant to push up through the stones, but this was rather a lot of it, especially to go unnoticed as one stepped in it.

“Huh, that’s… strange,” Harry shook his head.  “I could have sworn that wasn’t there a moment ago.”

“Well, Hogwarts does funny things, and all that…” Ron shrugged, eager to make it to class so he could add the final paragraph to his summer homework.

_____

They were doing their first introduction to inanimate-to-animate transfigurations that morning, which was  _ much  _ harder than its opposite animate-to-inanimate, and McGonagall warned them to be  _ very  _ careful.

“While you are not creating  _ life,  _ you are creating a very accurate  _ simulacrum  _ of it, and as such, things can quickly spiral out of your control,” she cautioned as she handed them each a teacup.  “Now,” she said, “we’ll start with teacups into hamsters.” Her classes  _ normally  _ did teacups into rats, but she hadn’t been quite fond of rats as of late and she didn’t think anyone else would be either, what with the news that just came out about Pettigrew being the  _ real  _ culprit behind the Potter’s demise.

“Oh dear,” Hermione hummed in dissatisfaction as she prodded her newly-created hamster.  “His little ears are a bit…  _ ceramic.” _

“An excellent first attempt, Miss Granger,” the professor consoled.  “The problems are not normally quite that minor,” she said, pointing to Ron’s, who was still sporting a flowery pattern and saucers for feet.  “Although you’ve both done well- five points to Gryffindor for each.” She turned to Harry, who was fighting off another dizzy spell but had gotten mostly past it.

“And you, Mr. Potter?” She asked.  “Are you feeling quite alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine professor,” he was quick to say, not wanting the worry lines around her mouth to tighten any further.  “I just needed a moment to gather myself for the spell.” He took a deep breath in, and, not  _ quite  _ feeling ready but not wanting to stall proceedings any further, waved his wand in the pattern they’d been shown.  To his surprise more than anyone else’s, a perfect, snow-white hamster with no traces of teacup anywhere appeared on the table, and Minerva McGonagall’s stern eyes lit up in what for her might as well be an out-and-out shout of glee.

“Excellent work, Mr. Potter,” she congratulated.  “Not even your father managed to create such an accurate simulation on his  _ first  _ attempt.”

“Oh, uh… thanks.”  Harry wasn’t quite so sure how he felt about that- he wanted to hold the memories of his parents close, to be sure, and he didn’t mind the occasional comparison as long as people remembered that he was  _ also  _ his own person, but he really had no desire to  _ surpass  _ his parents, and it felt somewhat wrong in a way.

“They’d be proud.”  Minerva saw the conflict behind his green eyes, so like his mother’s, and squeezed his hand in an unusual gesture of affection for their kind-but-strict head of house.  Harry just gave her a half-smile as she ordered the class to begin reversing their transfigurations.

Harry waved his wand to cancel the spell for the third time in a row, groaning in frustration- just when he’d been praised by the professor, he couldn’t  _ undo  _ it… Ron and Hermione already had their teacups back in their saucers, although Ron’s was a little chipped from where his clumsy-footed hamster tripped and scuffed the porcelain, but they were both  _ teacups,  _ at least.  Harry, for his part, still had an anatomically-perfect rendition of a hamster, squeaking and snuffing indignantly at him as the young wizard tried to examine the creature as unobtrusively as possible.

“Oh, not to worry- sometimes this happens,” the tabby animagus came back around.  “You might have overpowered the spell a bit.” She waved her  _ own  _ wand to cancel it, but the hamster  _ still  _ stayed a hamster.

“Hmmm,” she pursed her lips and tried it again.  “No such luck. Well,” she sighed eventually. “I suppose we’ll just have to let it be, then.”

“Oh, er… okay,” Harry glanced around, and, unsure of what  _ else  _ to do, shoved the creature in the pocket of his robes, taking a baby carrot out of his bag and dropping  _ it  _ in as well, to keep it pacified.  Although transfigured animals didn’t actually  _ need  _ to eat, since they weren’t technically alive, they were close enough that they seemed to enjoy it.

“Well, today is shaping up to be quite something,” Ron snorted as they left, Harry’s pocket squeaking and squirming as they made their way to defense.

“At least potions went well,” Harry sighed, glad he was about to go to a class he knew well enough that any surprises were at least  _ less  _ likely.

It went better than he expected, considering his usual luck with things, and he didn’t have any trouble with non-verbal casting.  His only  _ real  _ problem at the moment was his transfiguration assignment- still a hamster, still refusing to change back and  _ very much  _ a creator of mischief.

_ “No Malfoy!”  _ He ordered the creature, lunging for the fuzzy little rodent that had just gone for his last chocolate frog, and he didn’t catch the strange looks from his dorm mates until afterwards.

“Malfoy?” Ron scrunched his face. 

“Oh, right,” Harry didn’t realise he’d said the name out loud.  “I uh… I named him because he is pale and full of himself and determined to make things more difficult for me, apparently.”  Dean and Seamus shrugged and turned back to making out, but Neville and Ron looked at him thoughtfully a moment longer as he continued trying to coax Malfoy the hamster into the little cage he’d conjured him.

“Come on, you prat,” he muttered angrily.  “This is  _ good  _ sawdust.”

“Well,” Neville had an expression of barely-hidden amusement as he turned to Ron, mouthing quietly enough that Harry didn’t notice.  “It could be worse- it could be your sister.”

Ron did not find this comforting.

______

Harry’s jaw almost dropped the next potions class, when he got his summer homework back with a big  _ O  _ scrawled across the top.  He stared at in in astonishment for a good two minutes before he saw Snape giving him a derisive sneer and quickly shoved it in his bag.  He knew that the Slytherin head had to be fair, and it  _ was  _ a good assignment that he’d put a lot of work into, since he’d known that it would actually be taken into consideration this time, but still… he hadn’t been expecting an O.

The next few homework assignments were the same- big red  _ O’s  _ scratched angrily into his papers, but for some reason they still felt accusatory to Harry.  Was… could Snape be giving him better grades than he deserved, just so he wouldn’t get in trouble?  To test this theory, on his next essay he purposely didn’t put as much effort into it- this kind of paper would have gotten him a  _ D  _ the year before, and he knew, because this was the kind of paper that he’d scribbled wearily with an aching hand after long hours of Umbridge’s detentions.  At the end of the next class, however, he got it back with an  _ E _ written on it clear as day, and his mouth tightened into a frown as he sat there, fuming.  He’d  _ wanted  _ to talk to the professor, but Snape had been out the door and who-knows-where before Harry’d even looked up from his grade, so he’d made a point to get there very early the next class, before even Ron and Hermione had left the breakfast table.

“What is this?!” He slammed the essay down on Snape’s desk, causing the potions master to startle and look up with a scowl on his face.

“That’s your homework,” he said, sneering.  “Merlin Potter, I knew you were thick, but this is a new low even for you.”

“No,” Harry growled, stabbing an index finger at the red letter E.   _ “This.” _

“That’s  _ your mark,  _ Potter,” the Slytherin said, over annunciating as if he was talking to a child or someone very stupid.  “You see, when a teacher  _ gives  _ homework, they also  _ evaluate  _ it to determine the quality- it’s called marking, and I’m surprised you’ve only just noticed.”

“Oh, quit being a smartarse,” Harry spat, running his hands through his bird’s nest of dark, half-formed curls in his exasperation and making the state of his hair even worse.  “You know what I mean- you’ve been overly generous with my marks because you’re being watched, and I want that shite to stop.”

“Potter, I am still your teacher, and you shall treat me with  _ respect,”  _ Snape hissed through clenched teeth.  “And as for whatever nonsense you’re going on about, do you care to offer a reason or are you just so fond of having something to get up in arms about that you’ve invented it?”

“I  _ purposely  _ did worse on this than usual, and you still gave me a good grade- I hated it when you undermarked me, but now you’re giving me grades I haven’t  _ earned,  _ and that’s even worse!”  He waved his hands wildly in the air, ignoring the dizzy spell that came on as his vivid green eyes stared daggers into the professor’s sallow face.

“Merlin, Potter, you’re an absolute  _ mess,”  _ he snapped, pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.  “I can’t believe you’re going to make me say this, but the essay was  _ good,  _ alright?  Not as good as the work you’ve  _ been  _ turning in, but you earned the mark you got.  I graded it like I would have if it had been a student I  _ didn’t  _ feel a profound sense of irritation for,” he once would have said ‘loathing’ but he’d had to make potions for Potter’s recovery, and finding out that the son of his old enemy had an even worse childhood than he did meant that he was currently trying not to have to square up with some uncomfortable realizations, “and it was  _ good,  _ alright?!  You’re a decent potions student when you have a chance, and you understand the theory and have a good feel for preparation and timing and just about everything else!  When you have no distractions and nobody’s trying to hold you back, your brewing is top-tier and you don’t disrupt my class and  _ you remind me of your damn mother, so just take the damn mark and leave me alone about it!”  _ The man was breathing very heavily now, he’d lost control and he’d said much more than he meant to and Harry- no, Potter, always  _ Potter- _ was staring at him with a startled, innocent expression that made him feel things, old, painful memories that he didn’t want to think about.

“Just… go,” he ordered as the rest of the class started to be heard down the hallway.  “Sit at your desk at the back of the room, do your work, and  _ don’t  _ speak to me; I’ve had enough of your drama for the day.”  Harry did as he was told, still somewhat shocked by these new revelations.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was still discreetly watching Snape out of the corner of his eye when Ron and Hermione came in.  Ron took his usual seat next to Harry, and Hermione sat at the empty one in front of them.

“How’d the essay thing go?” Ron asked, and Harry shrugged.

“He said I’d been earning my grades,” he mumbled quietly, certain that the man was listening to the conversation even if he’d insist he had no interest.

“Of course you have,” Hermione said simply.  “I _told_ you this, but you didn’t listen to me- instead you had to go and do less than your best because you don’t believe us when we tell you you’re smart.”  One day, she was going to go make the Dursleys regret ever making him feel like he wasn’t, and she looked forward to it greatly, the ruthless, vindictive side of her ready to be let loose on two people who indubitably deserved it more than anyone else ever would.

“Whatever, he still got an E,” Ron shrugged, holding up the paper that had been cause for so much tension today.  “You’re doing great, mate- now, what’re we doing today?”

“Hiccoughing solution,” Harry pointed to the board, which he could see far better now that Madame Pomfrey had taken it upon herself to ensure he got an updated prescription.

“I’ll go grab the ingredients,” Ron jumped up immediately, before Harry could even offer, as he had been so far this year- his best friend had been through quite an ordeal the past few months and the redhead was going to _make him_ take it easy, simply by leaving him no other choice.

“Alright then,” Harry sighed as the room filled up, other students heading to the store cupboard as well.  In all honesty, he didn’t really mind not having to shove into that small a space, anyway- he’d done that enough in his childhood.

The hiccoughing solution included among its ingredients a number of whole, dead frogs and dehydrated daisies, and Harry had to take a moment before reaching for them, as he had another dizzy spell.  However, this one was so minor that it had passed in a moment, and he thanked his lucky stars (not that they had been super helpful thus far in his life) that it seemed to be getting better as he reached for a frog.

The next moment, something strange happened- as it always seemed to go just when Harry started to think things might be going his way.  The frog in his hands, which he had been quite certain was very, _very_ dead, suddenly slipped out from between his fingers, hopping away and croaking.  With a good strong desire to deny strange happenings, he might have been able to let this go as being merely one fortunate amphibian, but then _all_ the frogs started to revive themselves, and the dried daisies seemed to unshrivel right before their eyes as they took took root in the nearest crevice they cold reach.  

“Potter,” Snape looked like he was cursing every life decision that had ever brought him to this point.  “Did you just _bring my frogs back to life?!”_ Of fucking _course_ he would, stupid Potter and his stupid tendency to accidentally accomplish the impossible.

“Um…” Harry was at a loss.  He touched a frog, and then they all started hopping around in a way that most certainly was very lifelike and not in anyway resembling what an inferi frog might look like, should anyone try to make one.  Not to mention the room was covering itself in flowers.

“Alright then, everybody out,” their professor sighed, past the point of caring to work up the energy for a good strop.  “We’re going to have to postpone the lesson while I call the hazard crew.” By ‘hazard crew,’ he meant Hagrid and Professor Sprout, the better to tend runaway beasts and strangely-behaving plants.

As if things couldn’t get any more hectic, the hallway was flooding.

“Oh, that silly old ghost is at it again,” someone complained as they sloshed through the water.

“Hey!” Harry stood up for his friend.  “She’s got it pretty rough- she was killed _at the school,_ she’s been here being treated like a nuisance for fifty years, and no one seems to even care!”  He stalked off towards her bathroom down the hallway, and the rest of the class shrugged and followed, needing to wash the frog slime off their hands anyway.

“Hey Myrt,” he called softly, knocking on the bathroom door, and Myrtle looked up, her translucent eyes wide and sad and her lip wobbling as the water responded to her sadness and spilled from the plumbing like the tears she could no longer said.  “What’s wrong?” She’d been doing better lately, since Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made it a point to stop by and see her once in a while, and most of her meltdowns last year had been due to the fact that Dolores Umbridge had _dared_ step into her bathroom, and she wasn’t about to take that from someone who treated her friends so badly.

“Oh,” she tried to wipe her hand across her eyes, only to have it go through her face, equally as non-corporeal.  “I just… bad day, you know- sometimes it hits harder than others, that I’ll never actually get to have a _life.”_

“I get it, Myrt, I really do,” Harry assured her- he’d always empathized with Myrtle, knowing what it felt like to be an outsider, but after the veil, when he’d _literally_ been caught between life and death, he understood better than ever, and he fully supported her right to have a good tantrum now and again.

“Oh, I’ve disrupted a whole class,” she warbled, noticing the other students hanging around the doorway.  “I feel so foolish.”

“Oh, we were already disrupted,” Harry consoled her.  “Something weird happened in potions.”

Something weird was happening currently as well- Myrtle was growing less transparent, and colour was coming back to her cheeks- something that shouldn’t have been possible.

“Uh, Myrtle…” Ron began, just as the ghost solidified completely, dropping to the ground with a visible _thump._ Her nineteen-sixties Ravenclaw uniform was as tangible as the rest of her, the calf-length wool skirt soaking with water from the sinks.

“Merlin’s saggy balls,” she exclaimed, experimentally touching a sink.  “I’m alive!”

“Fucking hell, Potter!” Snape swore as Myrtle threw her arms around Harry, trapping her friend in a proper hug for the first time.  “You can’t just go bringing back dead people!”

“Are we even sure it was me?” Harry asked.  “I mean, I didn’t _mean_ to do anything.”

 _“It was you!”_ The entire class yelled in unison, all-too-familiar with the routine.

Harry had to admit he was feeling a bit odd- dizzy, quite dizzy, and drained.  Myrtle’s newly-solid arms had to catch him as he swooned, and Snape had to resist the urge to bash his head repeatedly against a wall until he met the sweet embrace of death- stupid Potter would just bring him back anyway, apparently.

“Someone please send for the nurse,” he ordered, too far past even the remotest sense of peace and sanity he might use to cast a patronus to go fetch her with.  “Tell her… you know what, I can’t explain this- just tell her it was Potter again. That’ll speak for itself.”

____

Poppy was breathing raggedly by the time she reached the dungeons with Ron, who was gasping even heavier after making the dash twice in a row.  Their had been no breath left to explain, so the healer had absolutely _no_ warning when she came upon the sight of Harry propped up gently against the bathroom wall, flanked by a very _alive_ Hogwarts ghost.  She’d taken her pigtails out and tossed them up in a bun- it had always annoyed the hell out of her that she’d died with a six-year-old’s hairstyle at fourteen.

“Circe’s swinging tits on a broom!” She swore, one hand feeling Harry’s forehead and the other Myrtle’s pulsepoint.  “Holy mother of Merlin- or should I be invoking _you now?”_ She turned to Harry, who pulled himself up further.

“I’m feeling much better now,” he insisted.  “I think I was just a little thrown out of whack by whatever happened with Myrtle.”

 _“I’ll_ be the judge of that, young man,” she tutted, running diagnostic charms.  “Hmm… well, your magic levels seem normal, which is strange in itself, honestly- one would think resurrection would be a bit of a strain on the core, after all- and your vitals seem more or less normal, but I’m still going to keep you overnight.  And _you,”_ she turned to Myrtle, waving her wand again.  “You are a living, healthy, fourteen-year-old girl- I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“I’m not about to complain,” Myrtle asserted, gathering her wet skirts.  “Now, if anyone has some clothing that _isn’t_ terribly boring and out-of-date, I’ll just gather that and make my way to the tower.  I have a second chance at the life that was taken from me, and I am quite determined to make the most of it.  I’ll need a new wand, of course- there’s no way around that, and I haven’t any money, but seeing as the school failed to protect me I quite think that’s you all’s problem now.”  She was no longer the scared, insecure child she had been when she died- she’d had fifty years to form her world views and think about what she would have liked to do with her life, and Harry’s friendship especially had been a huge help in cementing her sense of self-worth.  Now that she was more than just an impression of a soul, she was a force to be reckoned with.

“Severus, take her to the headmaster,” Poppy ordered, her attention already back on Harry.  Snape didn’t look too happy to be looking after the ghost-turned-girl, especially when she was freshly back to a body and full of determination to use it to accomplish things.

“Well, come on then,” she demanded impatiently.  “I’ve got things to do.”

Snape looked like he was ready to give her first detention as a student again then and there, but Madame Pomfrey was giving him a stern instructions to behave with her steely eyes as she helped Harry up, the teen all the while insisting he didn’t need it.  

“You know,” Myrtle began speaking, unprompted, as they walked, despite the fact that the potion master was doing his best to seem off-putting.  “You don’t really take too much advantage of being alive.”

“Excuse me?” he raised one eyebrow at her, almost lazily.  

“Well, you know- you can walk, touch things, do magic, eat, drink, breathe, dance, _live,_ and all you do is stalk through the castle yelling about how much everything sucks.”  Myrtle didn’t talk like she was from her age- she’d spent fifty years learning the changing pop culture and slang of the kids who went in and out of her bathroom, and it had been a nice distraction from the aching chasm of depression.  Well, she supposed that after Olive Hornsby had graduated, there were ten years or so where she was too depressed to really leave her stall, but after that, she’d really _tried_ not to lose her composure and flood the place _too often._

Harry and his friends were the first ones who really seemed to give a flying fuck and actually stopped to _talk_ to her on occasion, so that had helped.  Hermione would sometimes talk at her about some old spellbook she’d found in the library or her favourite feminist literature while she was stirring the potion, and the girl was more than ready to read them all herself, now that she could hold a book again.  She’d had all these things that she wanted to do that she _couldn’t,_ not when she’d only had fourteen years and barely a shot in the wizarding world, and she couldn’t understand why Severus Snape had solid hands and solid feet and a wand and a _life_ and couldn’t seem to appreciate it.

“Like you’re one to talk, flooding the bathroom with your tantrums every other week,” he sneered at her, and she stopped suddenly, turned around, and grabbed him by the collar, taking a moment in the back of her mind to appreciate the feel of the heavy fabric of his robes between her fingers.

“You listen to me, Severus Snape,” she ordered, and he was uncomfortably reminded that although she _looked_ fourteen, she was actually far older and apparently had the attitude to match.  “I was a _child,_ a muggleborn _child_ being bullied because I was lonely and scared and in a world I didn’t understand, and when I was killed- when I was _murdered by a madman-_ for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, nobody seemed to care, so _forgive me_ if I was having a bit of a hard time.  I spent every minute of the next fifty years regretting it and thinking that _if only_ I had a chance, I’d take it.  But _you,”_ she jerked his wand out of his hand and pointed it at his throat, and he swallowed as she backed him against the wall.  

 _“You_ were an educated adult who pushed your friend away and made bad choices, and even then, _even after you killed your best friend,_ you still got a chance to make up for it, to _live again,_ and all you do is squander it by sulking about how bad you think you have it and taking it out on innocent children- children like _the one I was._ So you heed my words, Severus Tobias Snape, you will get your motherfucking shit together or so help me- in case you’ve forgotten- which wouldn’t surprise me because you are _so_ self-centered- I was a ghost, and I could go places, not be seen… I know all your secrets.”  She leaned up a little closer, standing on tiptoes. _“All of them-_ and I’m not afraid to let some…” she paused for effect, letting Severus’ wand hang lazily in her hand, _“slip.”_ The wand clattered to the floor, and Myrtle let go, stepping back.

“I can make my own way to the headmaster,” she finished, her voice back to the slightly- high pitch of a fourteen-year-old girl still growing into it, her tone giving no indication to how terrifying she had been only a moment before.  “You ought to go see if the nurse needs any potions for Harry,” she called back over her shoulder, and the potions master knew the blasé suggestion was really an order as he stared after her in more than slightly horrified astonishment.

 

_________

Harry was kept away from any dead things for the rest of the day, and Madame Pomfrey insisted that she wouldn’t hear of anyone worrying over the matter until her boy had had his rest, so he was set in his usual bed in the hospital wing with much protestation as day wore on into night.  Sirius left around ten that evening, once Harry had fallen asleep, and crawled into bed next to Remus with very little concern for any of the particulars of the situation, merely relieved that his godson was okay.

The need to use the restroom woke him up around two a.m., and he went into the bathroom of their quarters and was pulling down his pajama bottoms when he saw a figure in the mirror out of the corner of his eye.

“Ahhh!” He began, before Death shoved his cold, pale hand over his mouth.

“Shhh,” his deep, silky voice whispered urgently.  “I’m sorry for scaring you, but we need to talk and cannot do it in front of your beloved.”

“O-kay,” Sirius exhaled, hand still over his chest as he tried to calm his pounding heart.  “But first, could you…” he motioned between himself and the toilet, and Death blinked listlessly at him.

“Oh, right,” realisation dawned on him eventually, when Sirius’ pants stayed up.  “You want me to turn around.”

“I’d prefer if you’d leave all together,” the dog animagus mumbled but made no further protest as finished up and washed his hands.  “Now, I’m assuming this is about what happened today with Harry?”

“Yes, that is correct,” Death said, still standing formally against the wall.  “That… was not amongst the consequences I might have predicted.”

“Yeah, I mean, you give him some of your death powers and he starts bringing shit back to life- what’s that about?”  Sirius crossed his arms as he slouched against the shower stall far more casually.

“The best I can figure is that Harry is naturally a force of vitality- magically, I mean.  Of course, death isn’t exactly dark or terrible in its own right, nor is light magic always used as a force of good, but in general, dark magics are more often associated with death, and Harry by his very nature and all that he represents- the pure _goodness_ that he is, is the antithesis of the crueler aspects of my own magic.  In addition, he has managed to escape my grip before, and I’m assuming that when I put my own magic inside of him, it reacted in the opposite way- it reasoned that because it had been put into someone like Harry, it must be intended to reverse the effects of the larger source- me.”

“That’s…” Sirius wasn’t exactly sure what he could say to that.

“I knew my magic would bond to his own, of course, and that that might fundamentally change the offshoot I gave him, because it would be adapting to Harry’s core, but I hadn’t anticipated that he would be _powerful_ enough for something like this to happen.  I obviously knew that he had great potential, after everything he’s managed, but for his own magic to integrate with mine that well and be enough to _overturn_ my own work- it boggles the mind, even once which has existed since the beginning of time,” Death finished, the only physical indication of the astonishment that belied his calm expression being the slight fluctuation of his neutral tone.  

“So, that’s obviously impressive, but what should we _do_ about it?” Sirius asked- he couldn’t imagine his godson would be allowed to continually upset the natural balance of the universe, and he was anxious for a solution that would prevent him from coming to any harm.

“We’re _not_ going to hurt Harry in any way to stop it, if that’s what has you so concerned,” Death reassured firmly.  “We should be able to handle issues as they come up- for now, I have these gloves.” He held them up- thin brown leather that looked no different from something Sirius might have put on to go on his motorbike.  “Now that I know the problem, I was able to make something that would neutralize the effects. For the time being, just have him put them on whenever he’s doing anything besides sleeping or using the restroom, just to be safe.  For the long term… well, I’m working on it,” he sighed.

“What should I tell him?” Sirius asked.

“Unforeseen consequence of the veil,” Death shrugged.  “And that these gloves should help. As for Myrtle- well, she’s jumped through a loophole and as it’s never happened before, it seems I have no requirement to close it.”  There were many times when he hated his job, and taking her originally had been one of them. Seeing as he by some miracle wasn’t being forced to take her back, he was more than willing to let it go.

“Okay then,” Sirius let out a slight chuckle of disbelieve.  “It’s been lovely having Death in my bathroom in the middle of the night while we had this nice little chat, but I think I’m going to go back to my bed and my boyfriend right now.”

“Technically, it is early morning, but enjoy your beloved and your blankets.  We will be seeing each other again, I’m sure.” Upon finishing his sincere but somewhat stiff and awkward goodbye, he popped away, and Sirius just shook his head in a manner quite reminiscent of Padfoot.

“That is one weird bloke,” he muttered to himself.  “Eons of watching humans and he hasn’t learned to interact like one.”


End file.
